A Note from the Author:

This extra chapter takes place about thirty years before ‘The Indomitable Miss Elizabeth’. I wrote it to give further insight into Lady Catherine, as well as her history with the gentleman who later became Lord Harvisham.

Enjoy!

The Jilt

Lady Catherine’s breath caught in her throat when she saw him enter the ballroom, looking gallant and filling out his uniform in a manner worthy of the powerful man that was Colonel Augustus Hammond. His jet black hair stood in remarkable contrast to the sea of white wigs popular amongst their set. He did not give a fig for what others thought of him. Her life would be so much simpler if she could be so bold …

He crossed the floor, his eyes searching. Her heart palpitated at the thought he might be looking for her. Not that she should encourage him. Though her heart would betray her, Colonel Hammond held neither riches nor a title to tempt her ambitions — ambitions she had to remind herself of the closer he drew.

She felt the moment he noticed her. His steps altered, and he prowled toward her like a black panther in the jungles of India. He had told her of them and the many delightful wonders to be experienced in far-away lands. Even now, exotic floral smells and the taste of spices filled her senses as she brought them to memory.

Ladies watched him longingly and gentlemen greeted him with respect. He passed through the crowds, his direction unaltered though many vied for his attention. Catherine overflowed with pride when he stopped before her and bowed. Everyone watched.

Raising her chin and regarding him with the cool indifference she had perfected during her previous four seasons, she curtsied, sweeping her gaze around the ballroom to ensure the harpies who persecuted her had taken notice. A cluster of gathered ladies contemplated them from behind their fans, whispering among themselves and shrugging their shoulders as if they were unaffected. But Catherine knew better. Every one of those ladies would hand over their fortunes for Colonel Hammond to look at them the way he looked at her. His gaze held a promise every woman yearned for — to be cherished with every ounce of his flesh; with every beat of his heart.

“Lady Catherine,” he addressed her in a smooth baritone. His charming grin revealed his sincere pleasure in seeing her. He was everything she admired in a man — strong of body and mind, influential in conversation, and of a towering height that made her feel dainty. Unlike other gentlemen, he was not intimidated by her bold opinions and superior position in society. What a pity he was the third son of Lord Harvisham. As one without a fortune or the possibility of a title, he was beneath her. Still, he was a pleasant diversion and gave her multiple opportunities to snub the biddies who loved nothing more than to

cut her for believing herself worthy of marrying better than they or their daughters. “Colonel Hammond, how good to see you this evening. I had not expected to see

you.” She controlled her breaths lest they reveal her excitement and deepen her complexion.

He leaned in close enough for only her ears to hear. “I came to see you. There is something of great import I wish to discuss. Will you join me on the balcony?”

She held her breath to keep the heat crawling up her neck to touch her cheeks. They would see her blush. Slowly opening her fan, she waved it in front of her face and complained, “It is rather crowded in here. I shall swoon unless I get fresh air.”

He took her arm and led her out to the balcony as a gentleman should when the lady he speaks to is under such duress.

The sky looked rich, like diamonds poured over black velvet. Lights flickered in glass ornaments spread throughout the garden path. Roses and jasmine scented the cool breeze. It was a perfect spring evening.

Catherine hardly knew what he wished to discuss with her, but it was not what he next uttered. “Stop acting for them, Cathy.”

She turned on him. “I am the daughter of an earl.”

“And I am the son of an earl. You will never be truly happy unless you have the courage to live for yourself.”

“I am living for myself,” she spat. He had a lot of nerve to imply she lacked courage.

He had no idea what it took out of her to show up at every social event knowing what awaited her — knowing how people spoke of her. She would show them if it was the last thing she did.

“No. You live in accord with what they expect of you,” he waved his arm toward the crush of people indoors. “Let me assure you, they do not have your best interests at heart. Not like I do.”

“You?” she scoffed half-heartedly. She could never attach herself to a nobody. No matter how sorely she was tempted to do so.

He stepped closer to her, and her heart betrayed her, hammering in an effort to drown out her reasonable thoughts. “You are all bluff, Cathy. Let me love you as you deserve.”

She faltered. What would it be like to be loved by a man who believed in her so entirely?

He took her silence as encouragement. Clasping her hands between his own, he continued, “You can have no doubt of my regard for you. Your confidence, your spirit, your strong opinions … they are a breath of fresh air in an insipid society. They set you apart and I adore you for it. I see my match in you.”

She looked around in panic, but his wide shoulders sheltered her. Feeling her resolve slip and her widely-proclaimed ambitions soften, she hoped. Her heart rejoiced, soothed by his sincerity and kind manner in which he turned her weaknesses into strengths. When nobody dared love her, he boldly declared himself, bravely revealing the contents of his heart when he knew he could not expect a favorable answer. What if she agreed? She respected him — loved him, even, if she were completely honest.

For a brief moment, her spirits soared. He loved her.

The whispers reached her ears just as she could envision a glimpse of the happy life Augustus offered.

Raising her hands to his lips and brushing them with a tender kiss, he asked the question she longed to hear. The question no other man had dared offer her. “Lady Catherine, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

Behind the hopeful man kneeling before her, a group of her peers tapped each other with their fans. Their fake smiles and raised noses professed Catherine as the object of their talk. Unless she did something, she would be the brunt of discussion on the morrow. The subject of their malicious whispers.

They would say nothing of the fine gentleman giving her attention. They would only see he was the third son of an earl. All her claims of refusing proposals as she waited for someone worthy of her would be thrust in her face and used to cut her repeatedly.

The ladies spread their fans, hiding their speech. But their eyes watched her. A giggle escaped one of them, and they huddled together, planning their attack.

She pulled her hand out from his before she lost her resolve. “How dare you!” she said loudly enough for everyone surrounding them to hear.

Blurring her vision so as not to see the pain in his eyes so clearly, she continued, “How dare you declare yourself to me! Do you not know I am the daughter of an earl? I refuse to marry a gentleman with nothing to offer.”

“I offer you my heart. Is that nothing to you?” He stood to his full height, pained and determined, but not defeated.

“Hearts change. What lasts in this world — what people remember — is fortune and position. That is all that matters.” She had believed it her entire life. It had been ingrained in her since birth. However, her lips said the word while her chest ached at what she stood to lose by holding to convictions she now doubted.

The ladies nodded their approval, intent on witnessing Colonel Hammond’s humiliation at her hand.

He looked over his shoulder, returning to her with a scowl. “I understand. I had believed you to be better than this.”

His broken faith slapped her across the face, but she would not show it. They watched.

With a scoff, he clapped, “Brilliant performance, Lady Catherine. But I will not be humiliated by your adoring public. Their opinions have no power over me and I refuse to allow them to reduce me to their puppet as you have. Good evening.”

He bowed, taking his leave with his pride intact, and swooping another elegant bow for the eavesdroppers.

Catherine turned, clasping the edge of the balcony so tightly, the rough concrete bit into her hands. A tear escaped her before she could calm her agitation. Thank heavens it was a dark night and she stood alone. Nobody would see how her heart broke. Nobody would offer her comfort. She had no friends, nor any close acquaintances in which to confide. She was completely alone.

Jutting out her chin, she reminded herself of her family’s expectations. It fell to her and her sister, Anne, to marry into fortunes. Anne had succeeded recently, marrying Mr.

George Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Well, Anne could have her wealthy husband. Catherine would do better. She would marry a man with a fortune and a knighthood. (She held no false hopes in snagging anything more. This was, after all, not her first season and far be it from her to be unreasonable when that was what Colonel Hammond expected. She would show him! She would marry within the month — nay, the week! — or die trying.

Straightening her shoulders, wrapping her pride around her like a warm cloak, she walked over to the unmarried gentleman who had been the sensation when he arrived from Kent to London with a fortune large enough to tempt a duchess and a knighthood. So what if he was twenty years her senior and resembled a fish. He would do.

Dropping her fan so that it slid in front of his feet, she poised her hand over her mouth. “Pray forgive me.”

His corset creaked as he bent to retrieve her fan. “Think nothing of it. I do not believe we have been introduced. I certainly would have remembered you.” He elbowed the gentleman beside him, who did the job splendidly.

“Lady Catherine, allow me to present to you Sir Lewis de Bourgh.”

She curtsied, never once taking her eyes off Sir Lewis and noting with satisfaction how he colored.

“Charmed, I am sure.”